


Cover It in Gold

by an_abounding_sentiment, play_your_tambourine



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulation, Sexual Tension, Tags will be added, Underage Drinking, also aline and vasily really really suck, idk man it felt on brand, they're all in rich families of CEOs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27787813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_abounding_sentiment/pseuds/an_abounding_sentiment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/play_your_tambourine/pseuds/play_your_tambourine
Summary: When Helene meets Marya, all of the Kuragin's business is at risk of going downhill
Relationships: Marya Dmitryevna Akhrosimova/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina, Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 9
Kudos: 24





	1. Red, Almost

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to write with the ever so lovely play_your_tambourine, and please check out her tumblr: @persephones-bde!!  
> We've been planning and writing flurries of collabs, and finally decided this may be the winner! Please let us know your thoughts :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you have seen the first chapter before! This is the amazing @play_that_tambourine's former one shot!  
> If you have read "Red, Almost", feel free to skip to Chapter 2!

“Sister…” Anatole sighed, a small smirk on his lips. Her eyes were focused on someone: they always were; she was always observing, and rarely ever acting unless she didn’t have a choice, society forcing her hand. But this… _this_ was different. And unfortunately, her brother knew her well. He had a glass of champagne in each hand, and didn’t give his sister a chance to decline the one in his right. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he leaned into her ear, now free hand grabbing her shoulder to pull her ear closer to his lips.

“Red dress,” She answered simply, all poise and no emotion. She’d indulge his curiosity, but not his enthusiasm. Anatole had never known a thing about being discreet. That included eyeing the redheaded woman in question, the only one wearing the color, with his brows furrowed.

“I think the guy left,” Anatole explained, turning to look at her. “No one’s around Red Dress,” He pointed out, craning his neck again.

“Mhm,” Helene hummed, smirking and flitting her eyes towards him. She watched the realization hit him in real time, mouth opening and a squeal escaping his lips. His words came out a in British lilted drawl.

“Oh, Sister, you like keeping me on my toes, don’t you?” Anatole now took his time studying the woman as well. A crimson dress with burnt orange trim, a subtle gold glittering the off-the-shoulder sleeves, full length and decently covering. It fit the woman’s rigid posture. She looked a bit uptight for what Helene’s type had a history of being. Far more modest. To be fair, Helene’s type had never been a woman before. “No offense, Lena…” She finally turned to face him fully, one eyebrow arched. “Why this one?”

“She’s intriguing,” Helene didn’t falter. “I like how she carries herself,” Then, almost an afterthought, “Plus, there is something alluring about someone who knows their colors,” Anatole laughed at that, and Helene took it as a sign to look away from him and towards the woman in red, taking a long sip from her champagne flute. “You could learn from her,” Anatole made an offended noise, hand over his heart.

“I look good in white,”

“White indicates purity, innocence…” She disclosed smoothly after a moment. “…things you lack,”

“You’ve grown quite the tongue. Papa’s friends won’t like that, you know,” He pointed out, but the smile indicated there were no hurt feelings. Even if there were, Anatole had no ground to stand on opposing it. He knew what he was, and Helene did as well. “What’s the color red looking like then, Holmes?” He asked her instead, taking a sip of his beverage, seeming to contemplate the taste as Helene spoke with all the confidence in the world.

“Got a little bite to her,” Helene’s eyes found her once more. “I just know it,” 

Anatole chuckled softly, but didn’t verbally encourage her. The closest he came was a faint gesture of the head in her general direction. 

\--

Helene would have to be foolish to think Marya did not notice eyes on her. The redhead, however, had heard plenty about the brunette as a whole, including that the young woman was plenty familiar with how to use her… _assets_ to get what she wanted. Her reputation was certainly not stellar, but that did not mean Marya wasn’t allowed to look, did it?

The Dragon of Millionaire Society decided the answer was no as Helene walked directly up to her. There was no flinching, no hesitation as she very smoothly slid into the narrow passageway Marya had burrowed herself into.

“Ah, I see your father has stopped parading you around for the night?” Marya suggested, elbow resting against the windowsill as her eyes moved over the slightly shorter woman, one eyebrow raised. She expected the brunette to shy away-to give her back the space she’d encroached on, and yet a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“So you’ve been watching me?” Marya did not point out the fact she was well aware Helene had been doing the same. Maybe for her own nerves. Maybe because an automatic remark had already begun to fall past her lips.

“Your father is the one hosting this event, so I would indeed say so,” She was curt with her words, though unsuccessful in casting Helene off. To be fair, she was warned; the Kuragins were nothing if not insistent. “You seemed quieter from a distance,”

Helene dismissed the last comment entirely with a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. Instead, cocked her head to the side, leaning her hip and shoulder into the wall, arms crossed. She was well aware of how Marya’s eyes wandered, but she was always the type to keep her cards close. And if Marya wanted to think she was playing hard to get, if that got her the results and escape she wanted, she’d play by the redhead’s rules. “Where’re yours?” Helene’s voice was something nonchalant.

“My what?” Marya asked in return, brows furrowing. Vague was, as much as she hated to admit it, intriguing. 

“Family,”

“They trust me to be alone and not misbehave,” Marya’s voice was flat, lips pressed in a line as her eyes fell on the woman’s lips, and the whiteness of her teeth as she smiled, laughing at the redhead’s comment. “I wasn’t joking,”

“I know,” Helene took a step forward. “You don’t seem like the joking type,” Slender, jeweled fingers wrapped around Marya’s wine glass, pulling it to her lips. Dark amber eyes remained on Marya, watching the woman swallow hard.

“I’m shocked your father turned you loose,” Marya scoffed.

“Why? He knows I’ll ‘behave’,” She air-quoted, nose crinkled mockingly as she took a long, drawn out sip from the glass that was- at one point not long ago-in Marya’s hands.

“Based on how close you are to me, I don’t think he’s correct,” The redhead commented, but did not step away when Helene took another step into her. Close enough Marya could smell alcohol a lot stronger than what was in either of their glasses on her breath, mixing with the aroma of jasmine that lingered over dark ringlets tucked for the most part behind her shoulders.

“Is that a problem for you, Miss…?” Helene purred, placing Marya’s glass very slowly next to hers.

Marya’s body was telling her a very, very troubling thing. A very troubling desire she was trying to stomach with excuses she didn’t know or have. “I think if your father found out what we-“

“I’m glad we are on the same page,” Helene didn’t allow her to finish, smirking but shockingly enough taking a step back. It was weird, Marya decided, to wish she had gotten closer a second time. It took several stunned moments to conclude Helene was well aware what both of them were thinking-what both of them knew was bound to happen. And what Marya was trying to combat. No woman should have been able to look this good, nevertheless stand in front of her in a velvet green dress with a slit that was far too high to be modest, lined on the inside with black satin.

The _audacity_ Miss Kuragin had.

Then again, Marya didn’t mind bold.

“Perhaps we should get to know each other better,” Marya suggested, and Helene made quite a dramatic sigh, glancing up at the chandelier overhead.

“Now where’s the fun in that? There’s no surprises,” Marya learned the woman’s skin was as soft as her lips looked when her fingers trailed over her collarbone. Helene’s head cocked to the side, humming in contemplation. It was a tune Marya recognized, though from where she didn’t know.

“What is that?” Marya asked, feeling chills run up her spine when their eyes met once more. Maybe it was the way the chandeliers glistened in Helene’s eyes, or perhaps it was the mischief written on her face that Marya had never known before. Maybe it was-

“Hm?” Helene didn’t hear the question completely, too focused on wondering what Marya’s skin would look like covered in teeth marks. How beautiful the bruises would look knowing she made them.

“You were humming something,” Marya told her, voice beginning to tremor slightly as Helene stepped even closer, not as gently as she expected pushing her against the wall.

“You mean Jazz Suite Number 2,” She answered, but seemed more preoccupied in how one hand found the redhead’s hips, the other reaching through Marya’s hair, giving it a small tug to test the waters. “The Waltz,”

Marya nodded, her own hand sliding to the small of Helene’s back. There were a lot of things Marya expected from Helene, and being a tease was not one of them, however her lips went to her jaw, almost curiously. Carefully. Marya thought she had control, and it was a bit jarring how quickly she lost it. Only seconds, and her patience was wearing thin. “Kiss,” Marya growled impatiently, not willing to wait with her so close. She stuck her thigh between the girl’s legs unable to control a small smile and Helene’s melodious laughter.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” Marya nodded, but Helene didn’t untangle her hand from fiery red hair, curling her fingers and running them up to her scalp. Marya knew what she wanted, but it was not what she got.

What hurt even worse was she would have. She would have if there was not the quiet sound of a wolf whistle. The words “Oh for fuck’s sake,” ghosted over Marya’s throat before she felt hands slide off of her, cold air now where she didn’t want it to be.

“As much fun as I’m sure you are both having…” The male with a snow white suit jacket leaned his back against the wall, raising his glass in a cheers to their circumstance. “Papa is requesting you,” Blue eyes locked on Helene’s face, quite beautiful up close by the way, and the rolling of her eyes.

“He can wait,” The brunette opposed with a small huff.

“You know Vasily does not _do_ waiting,” He told her slowly, walking closer to them. The unabashed nature of the way he approached brushed Marya the wrong way. He held out an elegant hand for Helene to take, flashing Marya an apologetic, knowing smile. “Shall we?”

Helene half outstretched her hand towards her brother, abruptly stopping halfway through the motion to turn her head back towards Marya. “What’s your name, darling?”

“Marya,” Helene gave a small bow of her head, meek and shy and completely unlike how the brunette had just been.

“All the reason to come to our family’s next gala, yes?” Lip between her teeth, Marya found it was unfair to look at her like that and walk away leaving Marya to wonder still what her lips tasted like.


	2. Play the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Grand Asshole himself, Vasily Kuragin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse (it is discrete/ nothing aggressively in your face), but I would still recommend being careful guys! Thank you guys so much for reading and all else!

Anatole loved his sister-he loved her dearly. He loved her without the confidence she would ever love anyone. No, Helene was far too cold-far too deliberate in everything she did-to allow emotions drive anything within her.

It was one of, if not the primary, reason her small scene startled him.

She cared for very little, if anything. Anatole sometimes wondered if she was capable of it at all. He hoped for her sake it was moreso a wall than a vice, though never voiced it to her. She was a good sister, but she was not as tolerant as most thought. She had a tongue sharpened on the blade of lies, and just enough venom in her blood to kill a man’s reputation if he stepped wrong. The blonde had seen it plenty of times. That being said, he feared her less than he feared _for_ her.

Anatole played the fool, but he knew his sister well. Knowing how to level with her, especially after all the alcohol he knew she had, was just one of many skills he’d obtained over the years. Helene was older, had been getting drunk a lot longer, but when Helene needed a distraction, she was not good with handling it.

Their strides were quick but graceful all the same, sweeping and confident. He hooked his arm around hers, using it as a way to pull her into his ear. Before he could even caution her, Helene was speaking.

“You ruined my fun,”

Their eyes locked for a brief moment-barely long enough to be considered a moment at all. It was enough, however, for Anatole to look at her and know rather quickly she took more shots than he thought she did. With a bottle of vodka stocked in her closet at all times, he probably should not have expected any less.

“You couldn’t have gone upstairs?” He questioned instead, voice light as to not attract any attention. Prying eyes had never been good for the wealthy. They were the stars of the show so to speak, however the preference had always been only when desired. If one got too curious, the Kuragin version of nitty gritty was not for the faint of heart.

Helene scoffed. “On the other side of the house? No. We are in heels. Those are uncomfortable, Toyla. It’s a walk,”

“You would have rather gotten caught doing… _that?_ ” He didn’t mention it directly out of caution, and Helene was at the very least sober enough to obey that part. Drunk sure, but Helene liked to keep herself reasonable. She knew her levels, and knew how to maintain them. Frankly, she needed to be just a little more than tipsy to get through this.

“It’s the 21st century,” Helene rolled her eyes. “You’re acting like it’s a crime,” At that, Anatole was forced to pause and look at his sister more closely. Her eyes were trained straight ahead. No red was there; Helene wasn’t looking at anyone as much as she was simply not looking at him. Anatole knew his sister, but he did not know where or how he offended her. He knew he did, because Helene steps sped up the slightest bit, and she was licking her lips, a habit she picked up from their nanny as children.

Some habits simply don’t die.

“I’m cutting you off,” It was all he could bring himself to say, because his sister had a weird thing about apologies. Receiving them always made her entire body stiffen. They made her all the more dangerous, sensitive to whatever micromotions proceeded after them. He could apologize when there wasn’t a question of what it would do to the company image. Right now, he was leveling. And that was all he had the ability to focus on. “Gimme your champagne,” He grabbed it before she could refute, watching her head snap towards him scowling.

Immediately, she smiled.

It was a confirmation that she knew the motion was too quick. An acknowledgment that it was a misstep. One so minor it was doubtful anyone would have noticed it, yet it was treated as lethal. Had the wrong person saw it, there’d be hell to pay.

Even one second of a broken façade and they were reined back into it by their fears.

Fears of the man who locked eyes with Anatole first, then Helene, and began to approach, his wife on his heels.

“You disappeared.” It was a declaration, followed by a judgmental tilt of his head. There was a faint smile that showed barely any teeth to suggest to those nearby their conversation was a simple one. One not of interest. His children, on the other hand, knew in less than three seconds exactly why the man had approached them.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Helene lied through her teeth, not sure if she was trying to convince her parents or those surrounding them.

“Have more to drink,” The comment from Vasily didn’t come as a shocker. Helene shocked all four of them by not following his direction immediately.

“Are you sure?” She questioned him more reluctantly than usual. Vasily stood up straighter, surveying the crowds swirling around them. None of them were too close and his eyes moved back onto his daughter, who had instinctively shrunk away the moment she noticed her error.

“You look upset,” The man spoke bravely once he realized no one nearby was paying attention: no stragglers or eavesdroppers for the moment. Aline’s eyes continues to look around, as if watching for any changes. “You need to loosen up or he’ll notice,”

Helene said nothing, feeling her face flush when Anatole spoke up. “I don’t know, Sir. She said she wasn’t feeling well,”

“Yes, but does Bezukhov’s son need to know that? No,” Helene winced like the name hurt her and Anatole shifted his weight uncomfortably. He loved his sister dearly, but not enough to adopt the same biting tone their father did when he offered a suggestion.

“I can go home with her with our driver-“

“Aline, go grab our daughter something to drink,”

Aline nodded quickly, smiling as innocently and ditsily as either of their children thought possible. She took a simply step, train of a striking gunmetal color flowing behind her. “Red, Elena darling?”

The curly-haired girl in question opened her mouth to respond, but never got a word out. “No, get her Banyuls or Port, would you?” It was hard to get in a word over the man, nonetheless one that would matter. Aline was off.

“I don’t think this is going to go well,” Helene pointed out warily. She didn’t need to specify for Vasily to understand. Confident as always, he grabbed both sides of her face affectionately, leaning in close and nodding.

“Yes, it will. You will be fine,” He said it with enough force she felt there was only really one option, which was to nod along with him. Agreeing tended to quell the fires of his temper, one she could feel rising based on the way his nails curled ever so slightly. The ice she was walking on was thin. Eventually, his hands dropped and he took a step back. It allowed both his children a moment to breathe and lock eyes while their father scanned the crowd for the man in question. “He has been watching you all night,”

“Has he?” Helene’s tone had grown more careful since his warning. Level and vague, but not impossible. Vasily knew of her opinions; she didn’t need to hide them from him. He knew she would do as he said. It was more a matter of how her opposition looked to those around them than a question of her loyalty to the cause.

“Yes. He told me you look divine,”

“That is great news,” Her voice was dry.

“You’re right,” Vasily addressed the comment as if it were genuine, and the smile that spread on his lips told a story of exactly where his next words were heading. “And so I expect better from both of you. We are not repeating the Drubetskoys,” His grabbed his daughter by the arm more to gain her attention than harm her, or possibly to show her that he could. “You lost me a business deal doing what you did,”

Helene nodded. Anatole shifted uncomfortably. It was a show of how important this Bezukhov plan was to him that his scolding was so public.

“Both of you just disappeared for almost ten minutes. If either are you are ever going to move up in this world, ever amount to anything, you have to use your _hospitality._ You have to be good _hosts,”_ His eyes landed on his son, hard but with that same smile still on his face. “Not sociaize with your best friend-who you are very fortunate that I let you bring” His gaze landed on Helene, “Or go disappearing without so much as telling us. People asked for you both. Be respectful,” He chided them like they were children again rather than teenagers. “You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?” He questioned them both, eyes narrowing as their heads shook. “So make it up to me by being behaved, then. Anatole, go talk with my friend, Donovan. He wants to know how school is going,”

The blonde knew better than to fight him. It was no use starting a war with the man who’d raised them. Who knew the twists of their minds and the roadblocks he put there. The man ran a business-there was no remorse for any steps he took. Everything was control and order, not how he got there. His children were no different. Perhaps it was through a guise of care and dances for affection, but Anatole had learned to seek it elsewhere. He couldn’t say the same for Helene; it was the reason he offered her a reassuring smile just before they parted ways.

Vasily and his daughter were left in silence. Neither of them spoke. Helene because she didn’t think there was anything to say and Vasily because he was watching to ensure Anatole knew who Donovan was; the boy was always the forgetful type.

“Elena,” Helene took the glass from Aline’s hand delicately, only offering a half-smile in greeting to the woman who had just returned with a beaming smile. Whether she had a good time tsalking to whoever she’d just been in the company of no one would ever know. “Drink it quickly. We will be getting seated for the auction soon,”

Under both her parents’ gaze, it became business. Aline didn’t dislike her daughter an less than Vasily, but it would be a lie to say Helene felt an odd physical security when both were present at the same time. Mentally much less so, but she could play their game a lot easier once her shoulders untensed.

“Did you put me at his table?” How much she sounded like her father was unnerving. Cold, calculating. Unbothered. All a whole lot different than she felt in the moment as the woman in red passed some distance back over Aline’s shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course,” Her father’s response was mere background noise as she watched the redhead glide through the crowd.

It was the first time she’d seen her out of the shadows all night. 

“Right,” She murmured distractedly, but quickly snapped out of it when her mother cleared her throat. “Will Anatole be there?”

“You don’t _need_ Anatole to be there,” Vasily answered sharply.

“I would like him there,” Helene wasn’t paying attention enough to watch her tongue.

“You will be with Pierre’s friends. They’re all your age, and you are a pleasant, easy-to-look-at girl. You will have no troubles. _But_ if you must know, we assigned him to the table next to yours. Tables 4 and 6. Just in case you need to watch his…temper,” Vasily explained, paying no mind to his own harsh criticisms or matter-of-fact commentary that should have been more shocking to his family members than it was.

“He doesn’t have a temper,”

“What is up with the snideness today? You were behaved earlier,”

Helene frowned, brain seeming to catch up with her circumstance. “Sorry,” She took several large sips of the wine, already feeling it continuing the job vodka and champagne started, nodding a bit to herself. “I’m just a bit nervous,”

Aline’s smile continued to beam. “Don’t be!” Helene’s smile became more like a grimace. Hearing her speak so cheerily grated on her ears each time. It was so fake Helene thought she’d be better off speaking like the whole thing was a burden. How people voluntarily listened to her speak was a mystery. The woman gestured vaguely over Helene’s body with a delighted, self-satisfied smile, “You have plenty of… _assets_ that can work in your favor if all else fails,”

“Thanks, Mama,” She immediately turned towards her father, “How long do you want me to entertain him?”

“A month, perhaps,”

Helene finished the rest of her glass.

“It’s not too long,”

Helene forced a smile even harder than she normally did, “I know,”

“Maybe even less,”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not really being helpful with this,” Helene sighed, giving a small gesture of her hand. Vasily didn’t deny or reassure her. Helene couldn’t decide in this particular moment what that meant. Maybe she would contemplate it. Maybe she wouldn’t. It took him a few seconds, taking in the anticipation of a stronger, kinder reaction, and instead beginning to back away.

“Getting a business deal with the Bezukhovs would be monumental. Just be nice to him and do your part,”

“I will,” Helene insisted almost robotically. “More wine?”

Vasily laughed. “There we go,” He smirked. “Go make us proud,” He waved her off in the direction of the man lingering towards where the auction would be, a glass of something in his hand. Well, at least they had that in common.

The smile stung. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love comments <3


	3. A Poor Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes no mastermind to deduce that this will end in disaster. Helene doesn't need more than a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are suckers for comments <3  
> Good luck on any final assignments you all may have in school and remember to TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES, YOU GUYS.

Helene dragged her nails over his arms while he spoke to her . She listened to his cadence more than the words themselves; she tried conversing with him before, and found that now she needed to avoid the frustration of trying to do so in order to prevent herself from smashing the new drink in her hand on the ground. Her thoughts were dry musings and absent-minded. Helene learned very quickly through the few conversations Vasily had set up for him that the man was a rambler. There were chuckled words from her father that he was simply nervous, though now he had yet to get any better. Pierre was talking more at her than to her. Helene didn't complain-not that she would ever complain about anything with exception of once in the private company of few carefully selected individuals. Helene simply stared up at him, fingers ghosting over his skin, giving an occasional nod. If he asked a question, she'd calmly ask him to repeat it. If it was thoughtful, which with Pierre it probably was, she'd either hum in consideration, or offer a restatement of his question into a vague answer. 

On his long winded tirades, Helene mostly tuned the sound of his voice out completely, paying attention to the fluctuation of his voice and pauses to indicate when to pretend she was listening. She'd been taught since she could talk that eye contact was everything. She didn't break it. Not in conversation unless it was with Anatole. Unless it was that buffoon, because she could rarely take him seriously. To be fair, she could not listen to Pierre without a visceral reaction; maybe, in a different lifetime and different circumstances, she could find him to be decent company. However, it was hard to find pleasure in those you were forced over to. 

Instead, amber eyes ran over his face, finding every imperfection in seconds. Kuragins could smell weakness _almost_ as fast as they could see it. She could see that his glasses and shape of his face didn't match, and that the corner of his left lens was scraped. Surely, his family had enough money to make such repairs and get it done within the hour. Part of her wondered if it just never occurred to him to complain, or if his parents were as strict and harsh about accidents as hers were. Broken or not, it didn't give excuse for how dull they looked on his face. Maybe she just didn't like his face in general. She wondered if his beard were feel weird on her face when she was pushed to kiss him. If he'd at least trim it a little if she asked nicely. She may not have had the choice of who she'd be on the arm of, but hopefully she'd at least have a say in that. 

His clothes were nice, sure, accented in shimmer and flecks of gold, but gold was not in right now. It wasn't the season for it, nor was it the style. It flaunted his wealth-more than likely piped with some form of authentic gold, knowing the Bezukhovs reputation-though Helene and Anatole were flaunting theirs in a way that was much more fashionable. Marya, too; eyes sweeped over the huge masses to try and find her for only a milisecond. She didn't see red and turned her eyes back on him with disdain. He was talking about something to do with a raffle, but frankly, how could the topic be interesting to her when she was the one who helped plan it?

"Helene?" Pierre gingerly tapped her arm, and she couldn't help bristling under his touch. Still she disguised it with a hand on her hip and a smirk, squeezing his bicep: where she would have preferred at least _some_ muscle to be, but that was beside the point. What did it matter anyway with a name such as his. 

"Sorry, say that again?" 

"I asked what you like to be called," He explained slowly as if she were a child; her grip tightened the slightest bit. Another sip of her drink. A soft laugh that Pierre seemed to reciprocate with a smile. He hadn't meant it as an insult; it was no one's fault but her own that he thought she may have been a bit of ditsy woman. She blamed it on herself, because it was the only way she was going to get through this. "Your father said Elena, but I've been hearing Helene, and I don't want to offend you or anything," Sensing the incoming avalanche of words, her response ended up quick, and a little sharper than she would have liked. The alcohol wasn't making for a good filter.

"Helene. Elena is a familial thing," A family thing wasn't what she probably would have called it, but it counted, right? Her and Anatole claimed over bottles of vodka behind the town library he only did it because it sounded good. More European. More warm. Something like one of those. There were a lot of words and memories behind that place: ones that would stay between them and never leave. And, well, if they did, Helene had a lot of rings available that would make his cheek red for weeks. 

"Ah,"

"I like the way you say Helene," Helene pulled him closer to her with a sharp tug, leaning her lips to his ear. "You have a nice voice," She purred. 

He didn't. It actually had a slur to it right now, which explained how flimsy his hands were as one of them found her waist. She hated the lack of confidence to it, or the way he spoke like every sentence was a question until he was full-steam ahead. Then he was nearly screaming, turning heads and earning sympathetic stares in Helene's direction. She couldn't help wondering how his parents didn't teach him how to _speak._ She considered the possibility they tried only briefly. One look at him and she decided to conclude, for her sanity and fading optimism, they hadn't made an effort with him. If they did, and he was still like this, she had no hope. 

Still, each moment and touch was automatic. This was not the first time, and not the last. A routine brought to her for years. She was meant to be perfection. Any fault was a crack she couldn't afford. If a piece of the statue fell, the rest came crumbling down. One poorly timed truth, one touch too soon or too late could mean the end of her. The end of the empire. She treaded to whatever comfort level the object of her affection accepted, and pulled back the same way. 

Fortunately, he was a fool. 

One Helene was doing a great job avoiding until there were interferences. 

One she would continue to avoid as soon as the time seemed right. She'd play by her father's rules; what was she if she didn't? What was she worth if not the price of a few torn dresses and some very profitable business contracts? She never had enough time of her own to come up with an answer. She didn't have enough time with her head absent from her parents' words. _Oh, to be Anatole._

"Do you want a drink?" Now he was speaking her language. Helene nodded, slowly pulling away from him, hand sliding down into his. "I see some of my friends at the bar," The brunette nodded distractedly, moving towards the drinks. She didn't hear a word of what the man said. All she knew was alcohol was a necessity. Her world was spinning slightly, and her mouth tingled, head fogged just enough she didn't have an obvious physical reaction to seeing the woman in red look over her shoulder at the sound of Pierre's greeting. 

It took her a few moments of confused staring to fully wrap her head around the fact this woman was friends with the man her hand was currently intertwined with. That time had been spent introducing all the people she did not care about. She offered hi's and enthusiasm, but their names were lost seconds after they were spoken. She only heard one start of a sentence with crystalline clarity. 

"This is Marya, and Marya, this is-"

"Helene." Icy blue eyes met hers with a slow declaration, slightly wide, saying the words of shock they were both thinking. Helene swallowed hard, slowly pulling her hand out of Pierre's and offering it to the woman directly in front of her to shake. "We've met," 

Pierre seemed delighted. "Oh great! Sit," He pulled out the chair next to his friend for Helene to sit at. If only he knew. 

A small part of Helene, barely even a particle floating through the air, felt sympathy for the fool of a man seated beside her. How oblivious he had to be to not know the long list of people Helene had touched in this exact same way. Smiled at the exact same way. The other part of her felt nothing with exception to pure disdain for him; there was no fun in this. No chase, no winning, just a little cleavage and a lot of acting stupid. It was a shame: less than an hour and she already liked his friend better. 

Still, Helene introduced herself again more out of customs than necessity as she allowed her eyes to dance over each face looking at her. They all knew who she was; she was the daughter of the businessman hosting the entire thing after all. However, as her long winded and well-rehearsed introduction came to an end it was the redheaded woman that she looked to. Helene's mouth was still but her eyes suggested everything, doing a lot of talking, and a lot of imploring Marya to offer something similar. Helene may have known most at least on a first name basis, but beyond that felt barely relevant. She only knew those she was thrown at, and obviously no women were on that list. Aline would occasionally point someone out to her in a dress that was of substantial importance, whether they were hosting or simply the most wealthy in the room-someone it was vital she say greetings to-but beyond that Helene knew very few. Her focus was limited to whatever world her parents had drawn for her in that time, and stepping outside of it had only began happening the month prior, because they were beginning to try and get Anatole’s manners at least on par. He would fail, inevitably, but Helene took the freedom while she had it. It came in the form of this woman she wished to know better, whose eyes had grown more and more judgmental the longer Helene sat beside her. Helene had gotten a first name-Marya-but Helene couldn't get enough. A name was not going to satisfy her, and part of the brunette wondered if she herself was the only one who realized it. 

"Why have I never met you before, Marya...?"

"Dmitrievna," The redhead clarified, sensing the upturn of her voice's intention. An essence of self-satisfaction bubbled within at the momentary shock expressed across Helene's face. For the first time she'd seen, the woman seemed to be thrown off her feet for a moment. The brunette blinked twice, humming the sound of yet another waltz Marya had yet to hear. "Did you not know that already, Miss Kuragin?" 

This one was so, so much more fun than Pierre. "Thousands of contacts. Names get jumbled," She touched a hand to the bracelet on Marya's wrist-one that was quickly pulled away from her. Helene laughed a little to herself at the thought; this woman hadn't put a fight up towards being a whole lot closer. "I would have remembered you if we'd met. So tell me, Dmitrievna's daughter, what brings you here?" 

Helene's voice had a certain timbre to it. One that was easy and pleasant. How rehearsed she knew it was made Marya cringe. Helene's relatives spoke the exact same way; it didn't fit Helene like it fit them. It was a melodious tune to hear her speak and question, but Marya couldn't help a faint uneasiness each time she heard it. The pacing was natural at this point, evidently, but still there was something fake within it as well. Marya couldn't help feeling like she was under attack by smiles and carefully placed words, but what she was trying to conquer was a question left unanswered. With Pierre it was also clear, though it did not make sense for the brunette to turn her attention so blatantly. 

"You two have probably never met before today," Pierre interjected with an easy smile; Helene doubted he noticed the lipstick stains based on how enthusiastically he continued to talk. "Marya recently moved from Moscow, isn't that right? You said your parents were devastated to see you go," 

Helene gave a small, wise smile. Something about that was a victory to the brunette girl, who seemed to perk up ever-so-slightly. Not enough for it to be noticeable to anyone except those watching her intently. "Oh, you're Russian?" 

"I am..." Marya trailed off uncertainly. All that she had heard about this Helene Kuragin was true; she was a dangerous woman, and toying with her felt like she was playing with a shark. 

But hey, she'd always dreamed in Russia of swimming in the ocean. 

"A lot of my relatives live in St. Petersburg. Lovely people, though they don't like the tourists much," She mused, tapping a manicured nail on her chin, trailing it down to her neck. A warning sign. Marya hadn't looked in the mirror. Helene raised her brow in a sharp, quick motion before turning her head to Pierre and wrapping her arms around one of his, pulling it into her. "Have you ever been to Russia? How did you two meet?" 

Pierre told the story in many words like Helene knew he would. It gave her time to think. 

She thought over the sound of his words, trying to figure out how she wanted this to play out. It was her game-had been for years, after all. Pierre was an idiot for all he was worth, and she highly doubted a woman had ever touched him more than this, money aside. There was only confidence in her mind surrounding the fate of this one-sided relationship. Minimal appearances of his name cycled through her mind as she sat between beside a woman far more alluring. 

She heard the intonation of his voice- heard when he finally took a breath- and turned to look at him over the shoulder, batting her lashes. "Oh, Pierre, we should go to Russia one day. In the winter it is so beautiful," She stressed, scrunching her nose and offering a playful smile as she maid her hand on his leg. She wouldn't admit the amusement it brought her to watch him squirm and jump. It also gave her the pleasure of watching Marya’s reaction. The redhead held her breath, eyes moving to try and catch Helene's gaze. A stare she deftly avoided, using her other hand to grab the glass she desperately needed right now. 

"So your parents are still abroad?" Helene's question came out harmless, except nothing involving her ever was. Placing the base of her glass between her pointer and middle finger, she slid it towards the opposite side of the counter without averting her eyes from the woman in question. The bartender had been employed by her family for ages; he knew her drinks by now without prompting. 

"Yes," Marya could tell there was something in Helene's voice that made the question significant. Pierre didn't pick it up, however, and neither did she. Not right away at least. 

Pierre looked delighted. Poor Pierre felt nothing other than relief to see the two hitting it off. Helene once again feared that she almost felt pity. Almost.

"Hm," Helene hummed a couple notes, harmonizing with the piano's soft rhythm that filled the meeting hall. Her nail trailed along the edge of the black accented marble, all the way over to where Marya’s drink had been before pale fingers lifted it, before she spoke. "So you live alone?" 

Marya’s lips froze over the glass, their eyes locking. 

Marya froze. 

"Yes," 

"Interesting,"

"Why Interesting?" 

Helene glanced down at the drink pushed in front of her with a nonchalant shrug, "Just is," 

Marya casted a look pointedly to Pierre who sat just over Helene's shoulder. Her best friend's aloofness was both a great plus and a curse in this moment as a guilt-filled dagger prodded at her side. A faint reminder of where exactly her thoughts were headed. He listened to their conversation with delight, simply pleased with the blossoming friendship. Pierre didn't have an ounce of social intelligence in him; while it didn't matter when it came to Helene, how much potential she held to play made Marya’s stomach lurch. Worse was the way Helene rolled her eyes. She mouthed the word 'boring' just before turning her head. 

Helene could smell whiskey on his breath and smiled sweetly. Why he had _that_ of all the cocktail selections available to him she did not know. As if he could be any more displeasing to be around in comparison to the others. "Theodore makes excellent mixed drinks. You ought to try one," She urged him instead. Anything to get that god awful smell away. 

"Oh, I am more of a traditionalist," 

"I bet you are," Helene turned to face him fully, offering a smile but no explanation to her words. "But Theo will amaze you. I promise," Marya’s eyes narrowed; she could feel the coolness of her gaze as it flit over her. She leaned forward on the bar, arching her back slightly to lift her head higher in search of the bartender. "He takes great care of me. What do you like? Fruity? Spicy?" 

Pierre laughed nervously, "I'm not-" 

"You have to try one of his cocktails," 

"I-"

"Will it make you feel better if I get Marya to try one as well?" The redhead jolted slightly. It was clear on her face she was too focused on... _other things_ that Helene pretended she didn't notice more for Marya's dignity than her own.

Aline's gaze felt different than an admirer. It singed her skin wherever her latest criticisms had been, yet she knew without a moment's thought Aline's judgement was not about those things right now. Aline was judging, she always was. But this time Helene knew the reason. She knew she was fucking up right now. Still, the smile remained on her face. It was faint but polite. Inviting. Hoping Marya would give a contribution some time soon, because there was no polite way to tell Marya where to look. There was no smooth way to explain she could see out of the corner of her eye that Vasily and Aline had once again rejoined one another, observing Helene's work from afar. Perhaps they knew what she did, and perhaps they didn't, but Vasily gave a small, curt nod when Helene grabbed Pierre's hand, moving her chair was enough back that her and Pierre's arms were touching. Her weight leaning into him, eyes up on him with an innocent pout on her lips provoking Pierre's words. 

"Will you?" He asked with skeptical, half-pleading eyes. Pierre didn't look to be as on board as Helene hoped, but Helene was unnervingly convincing. Even without saying a word, a lip between her teeth and wandering gaze was all it took for Marya to relent with a huff of agreement. To what, she had yet to find out, thought the curiosity was immediately killed as Helene leaned over to take Marya's glass and down it. She was done with the drink before Marya could even realize this was the second time, flagging the bartender down. Her parents' gazes fell away. 

"Something spiced. Cocktail," Her words were brief; Helene trusted the man with her drinks more than she trusted even herself with her life. There was a reason his paycheck was so high, and it was not because the money was around (although it easily could have been a time ago). 

Helene had not been there to see or hear what Marya ordered, but she knew it hit her hard enough after too many drinks to count. Still, she managed to keep her composure sound. Helene knew herself well when under the influence, and drank accordingly. As she got older, Helene managed to conclude for herself there was no dealing with Kuragin galas sober. There was no reason to, either. She was supposed to be loose and touchy, anyhow. Supposed to be making her family proud. The lone thought of it caused a grit of her teeth and she moved for her own glass this time. If Pierre was phased t didn't show, and that man was capable of hiding nothing. His opinion was what mattered for the next month, after all. She tried to ignore the slightly knitted brows and blue eyes that locked onto her with concern. 

It turned out Pierre was quite a drinker; in the time Helene had avoided him up until Vasily's intervention, Theodore had picked up a pretty solid drinking profile for him. It was a result of "tonight's observation and many former" apparently. The bartender, ever the conversationalist as any person in their circle had to be, managed to rope Pierre into an entire dialogue. Maybe he saw Helene was suffering, and knew she would pay him well at the end of the night, or maybe it was the knowledge of who the Bezukhovs were in this world of the modern-day upper-upper class. Helene did not look into it; she did not care for whatever they were talking about, as long as he smelled better and Marya liked whatever Theodore had supplied. 

"What's in this?" Marya raised the glass to investigate the metallic glint as she swirled it. 

"Lustre, probably," Helene answered easily, far too comfortable with alcoholic ingredients for someone too young to legally drink. "What, you've never had-"

"A shining drink?"

Helene gave an airy sigh. "What a shame. Glad I could be the first," Marya's puzzled expression didn't warrant any reassurance in the brunette's eyes, rather a gentle touch on the top of her hand. "You look very far into things, dear," Her nail traced over Marya's knuckles, smirk curling onto her lips when she noticed the redhead shudder. To give Helene this much power was dangerous. Intoxicating. Or maybe that was how hard the shimmering red drink hit her. 

Marya hated herself. 

She hated herself for this. She hated herself for where her eyes moved over Pierre's prospective girlfriend. One who clearly was not interested in him. One who she would not tell of what happened between herself and Helene. Hated herself for the sin of lust and for falling so easily into the trap of a most intoxicating wonder. It was odd, Marya thought, that Helene had managed touch Pierre so absent-midedly while taking a cherry stem between her teeth. That she so easily flipped a smile on when Pierre turned to her, but Marya still had a soft shimmer of pink staining her throat. That the consciousness of immorality was not enough to save her. 


	4. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kuragins play their game. Pierre pokes the bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All about that context. Sorry for the short chapter, you guys! We'll be following both storylines separately for a brief moment here before bringing our ladies back together!
> 
> To those who celebrate: MERRY CHRISTMAS! We know the holidays are tough for some people, so hopefully this brings some light and entertainment, even if just for a few minutes <3

"Sister," Anatole drawled out, leaning his elbow back on the banister and staring up at the chandelier. The regality in his tone told her everything she needed to know: their parents sent him to her. "I have a question for you," Helene was on guard. Not a day, hour, or minute went by that she was not, really, however now it showed in her posture. In the way her eyes shifted from the rings on her fingers to him for the briefest of moments. It was a silent conversation, eyes not moving off one another. The moment it broke, the façade would too. Whether they were being watched or simply listened to Helene did not know, nor care to find out. Looking at Anatole meant a small ease in her stress; if Aline and Vasily were there, she was better off not knowing. She nodded him on slowly, taking a single step in his direction before stopping. It was a dance they had been doing for years now. The Kuragins had done everything for years: "new" had never been a fathomable concept. They were trained to routine-a break in it and they were good as dead. Anatole cocked his head slightly, biting the insides of his cheeks as he took a gliding step towards her. 

Anatole, for as drastic as he was, could be a master of subtlety. He was a lost cause in etiquette, but he was not the idiot people took him for. Not with Helene at least; to have the two children on the same plan was as lethal as one could get. His perceived stupidity became an advantage in more situations than it wasn't. No one, certainly not Vasily, would have expected this to a dance of words and hand signals they were engaging in. It was quiet and smooth: the epitome of the Kuragin charm being worked over in real time. Vasily could read Helene eerily well, but his son was not so simple. Knowing this meant letting Anatole do the talking. 

"What is it?" Her voice was level. Expecting. Unclear otherwise. She held three fingers up to her lip, drumming them gently in a symbol of impatience. Their eyes never moved off one another. Anatole gave a subtle nod, confirming exactly what Helene expected. Vasily knew his daughter well, and often forgot she had been trained to watch his every movement: from his facial expressions to what it meant if he drummed his fingers on the table thumb first. The man was predictable and his decisions distinct. He had questions, and sending Anatole to answer them had a stronger likelihood of getting honest answers. 

"You spent a lot of time with Pierre," Anatole declared, clearing his throat. Blue eyes ran over her face, over her three fingers, slightly spread out over her lower lip, waiting. "How did it go?" 

"I do not like him much," She mused, stating only the obvious and nothing more. She was not stupid. She was no fool as Pierre was, and not as bold as Marya. She was careful. Measured. Anatole took a small step closer to her. 

"A true misfortune,"

"Indeed," 

The silence was long. 

She could see in the way his eyes moved over the detailing on the ceiling trim that he was formulating his thoughts, and Helene would not rush him. She, if anyone, understood that perfection took time. Anatole often did not care for the thoughts and opinions of others, but their parents' position in his life specifically these recent weeks had become more embedded. He could not simply step over the cracks they'd made in the family. Not now, at least. it was one of the few times Helene had seen him care about anything, and his time mapping the conversation was spent by Helene wondering if this change was a relief or frightening. 

He and Helene would let themselves fall from grace at a later time when Vasily was asleep. Right now was as much of a game as any. And they liked to win. 

"How did you like his friends?" Helene shouldn't have been shocked; she could feel Aline's eyes on her when she played with Marya's desire. Yet still, somehow, she expected less boldness from a woman who'd she'd seen bent over her husband's desk with the chauffer. The brunette tapped her fingers on her hip, clearing her throat.

"Pleasant," Helene did not give first names just in case; it was a futile attempt to avoid any future interruptions, because Helene had learned to memorize names from the best. 

"There was a girl you got along with as well, too, right?" Anatole knew that. Helene knew that Anatole knew that, and now was aware Vasily did too. Whether that was Aline's doing or his, Helene did not know. She did not care to inquire further, either. This was about her, and their father would not settle for less. This was a dance neither of them wanted to partake in, and an apology was in Anatole's eyes. He was aware Helene would never hold this against him, because she knew the process of getting pinned like this first hand. This was not the first time, nor the first, second, third, tenth, twentieth-the list went on. Perhaps when they were young and their ages were still in single digits they would have considered this a betrayal. It had become survival since then. 

"Pierre's good friend, yes. A Dmitrievna child," her words were careful, constants sharp on the woman's last name. They had money. Everyone knew they had money, and financials could be a Kuragin's excuse for anything. Thinking back to a time they had been unsuccessful in doing things for money and getting out of them the same way would have taken her back to maybe four years old: some time too early for Helene to actually recall. She was pulling at straws here. Trying to pull on reason she did not have. It made sense by their family's rationale, and the compliance to it would have shocked no one. If one thing was going to save her and allow her to indulge in pleasures, it would be mention of the finances.

What could Helene really say that money didn't?

Bless her brother, able to read her better through a span of seconds. He hummed, rocking back on his heels, blue eyes flickering towards the hallway lined with chrome at their base. Following his stare, she could see flats standing still and the slender legs they belonged to through the reflection of polished floors. Helene couldn't decide in that moment if she was more shocked, or horrified. 

Anatole seemed less concerned than she was, which helped as much as it could. Aline was a tool just as they were, but being a mother had done nothing to make her sympathetic. Vasily hearing those words was one thing, Aline hearing them could mean just about anything. Helene did not like chances, and she didn't like not knowing. Anatole offered her a small smile, tight and knowing. The information would get back to Vasily no doubt, but in what capacity what he heard would be true was a mystery. 

"She was a good excuse to Pierre to drink a cocktail," Helene proposed after a pause. She clasped her right hand over her other wrist, nails digging into her skin in an attempt to calm herself down. It wasn't a big deal. It was just a meeting. Nothing more. And even if it had been, that was plainly irrelevant now. 

It would stay that way until she saw Marya again, and forgot every hidden warning in the way Anatole eyed her. 

\-----------------------------

Marya and Pierre had been friends for years. He valued her opinion-or well she thought he did until he disregarded her comments completely. 

Always an idealist, Marya was not surprised at his reluctance to heed her warnings, but the vehement denial was something else entirely. She watched him with horrified curiosity. He continued to pace along the perimeter of his bedroom, eyes down on the ground as his arms flailed about. 

"How can you insult her?!" Pierre exclaimed, looking more hurt than angry. "She was so nice to you!"

Marya pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. His steps stopped and when she looked up she was met with the face of a man who was completely and utterly hopeless. "Pierre, I have been here for no more than a few weeks and I have already heard of this woman's reputation, and I just don't think-"

"Reputation means nothing!"

"An entire room of 100 people all thinking the same thing means nothing to you?"

It was odd to see Pierre like this; Marya had known Pierre to think of the fantastical and the absurd, but it was things about space and time, or politics and philosophy. It wasn't about a girl he clearly barely knew. Someone Marya had been closer to than himself. She knew Helene was a whole type of enchanting, but to see her power working real time only grew vines of doubt that pricked at and choked her insides. 

What game had Helene been playing, and piece of it was Marya completing? 

"Did you see how she was looking at me?" He questioned incredulously, and painstakingly. Lovestruck. Marya tried to keep her swears from reaching his ears. For heaven's sake she was speaking to him while Helene's teeth still marked her throat. 

"Pierre you deserve someone who values you, not someone who is using you to-" 

"Marya you can't insult her just because she wasn't afraid of you!" 

"Well-" Marya began a sentence with the intention of finishing it. What that sentence was going to be she didn't know, because what he had just yelled registered first. "What?" Pierre seemed to realize what he said and swallowed hard. But he did not take it back, and in the redhead's eyes that was impossibly worse. People were rash and impulsive creatures-said things they did not mean-yet that had been Pierre's truth. "What does that mean?" Pierre looked away. Anywhere but at her. he took off his glasses just so he could stare at them instead of meeting her intense stare as she took a step closer. "Pierre?" She prompted him through gritted teeth. 

Pierre stumbled out his words. This did not, nor should it have, surprised Marya. The man could barely speak as is, and to put him under fire would never yield any other results. Though Marya, all fire and no patience, would not untense her muscles until she received an answer. Pierre would not give one until he knew Marya wouldn't kill him for it. Marya was a woman of unwavering loyalty and devotion, but she was not one who folded over easily. Realistically, she did not fold at all. She did not cry in private or mull over arguments because she doused that fire before the match hit its target. That, or she'd take a flamethrower to it first. 

"S-Sometimes, it feels like...Mary and Natasha are quieter, and..." Pierre took a deep breath, hand subconsciously reaching for a bottle that was not there. Marya raised a brow, frown growing deeper set in her features. "Forget I said anything..."

Marya scoffed. "You got this far!" 

"I think she wanted to get to know you, and it made you apprehensive," Pierre declared hesitantly, though the pace of his words sped up to a point they were barely coherent. She was only able to understand him from years of witnessing him try to speak in difficult situations. "And you are t-trying to come up with reasons to dislike her, because if she is dating me, she will get to know you better, and-"

"This has nothing to do with you, Pierre," The disillusionment was baffling to say the least, but Marya had the decency to keep quiet on it. "I promise you that," She did not mention the things that occurred in that hallway. She would never speak of them to anyone, because something deep down cautioned her on a 'just in case'. Marya had been wondering how to disclose that she didn't dislike Helene at all-far from it-yet his remarks made her question how guilty she would really feel not telling him. 

Presumptuous was not a good color to paint on yourself, especially when arguing with Marya Dmitrievna. Marya was a sharp-tongued, hard-lined woman, yet she was a stubborn one. She promised herself success and no less; if Pierre wanted to be the deer, he was clearly set on the path, and she was not going to scare him off it. 

She decided in that moment to not tell Pierre what had happened between them. 

She decided in that moment she would not necessarily prevent it from happening again. 

Marya was a good friend, but she was not merciful. And to make assumptions made her all the more compelled to prove him wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We LOVE comments!


	5. To Self

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the next gala, the ladies are keen on keeping tabs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Unfortuantely this may be our last chapter for a bit, as PYT is taking a little hiatus from writing, but we will be back soon! <3 Thank you so much for your support guys!

Anatole sat on a velvet throw that was folded neatly at the edge of Helene's bed. He watched her emerge from the bathroom with a dress that somehow managed to embody everything she as a Kuragin was expected to be. It was one of her newest addition to her growing collection from Paris, designed by someone with a name she now knew by heart from all the times she'd been asked where to buy ones like them. The material was tight and clung to her body in lace and crushed velvet. It was hard not to admire, above all, the smile on her face, “What do you think?” She asked him harmlessly, spinning around, and resting her hands at her side.

“What if you fall over?” Was all he could come up with at the moment, eyes on a metallic neckline that was low even by Helene's standards, “Or bend over?” Helene laughed at that, although Anatole tried to look like he didn’t find it funny. "I think _the ladies_ -" He gestured vaguely over the top of her dress before breaking out into a snicker. "-are in danger, sister," When Helene didn't laugh, he paused. There was a part of him that forced himself to stop and look at her again, because he knew his sister well. He knew that flash in her eyes. 

“Papa picked it out,” She said absent-mindedly, moving to practice her smile in the mirror.

“Doesn’t it hurt your cheeks to smile so much?” Anatole asked once heard their father beginning to talk to the chauffeur. They didn't like being around the man when he was stressed. And so Anatole's attempt to avoid it came in the form of a question, watching as she shrugged, moving to the mascara wand so she didn't have to meet his eyes when she spoke the answer. 

“It makes him happy,” 

“You’re good at that,” Helene froze, wand hovering over her lashes. She said nothing, but they made eye contact through the mirror, and something in Helene changed. “I shouldn’t have said that,” Anatole stated automatically, although he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t. It felt hours before she cleared her throat and continued getting ready. 

“Are you okay?” He asked meekly, and she sighed. A clear sign she wasn’t. Both of them knew that, but neither of them confronted it. Doing so would only make it real, and legitimizing it meant Helene would think on it. If there was one thing they learned through their years it was that some things were not affordable, and emotions were at the top of the list. feelings meant mistakes, and mistakes meant consequences. 

“Do I look hot?” Anatole asked, breaking the silence as he stood up, blue eyes flitting to his sister then back towards the full length mirror that hung from her private bathroom door, lined in gold that whirled around all its edges. He'd never done well with quiet. His ego and need for her to cut this tension became achingly clear in that moment. 

“Yes, Toly,” She told him simply and without a moment's hesitation, although she hadn’t even glanced in his direction.

“You didn’t even look!” He whined, turning to look at his sister with a pout. Still, she never looked away from the small makeup mirror on her desk. 

“We’re Kuragins. We’re always hot,” Anatole shrugged, her tone so confident it offered no choice but to agree. He looked once more into the mirror, a small smile. He gave another look, and Helene was right; he looked _good._ Even with her back to him, he knew by the cutouts and experience alone Helene was going to make everyone at the Dubestroy's gala drool. The two of them, stellar as always, and just a little bit intoxicated from the handle of vodka stashed underneath her desk, were still going to be as show-stopping as they always had been. 

The Kuragins were the rulers of reputation, anyway, and they would bear the weight of the crown as heavy as their burdens all the same. 

\-----

Marya had always been something of an honest woman. Feelings were low on her list of priorities; Marya was a woman whose words may have stung like daggers when you asked for them, yet the pain was a worthy exchange for honest advice. In a world as superficial as one of gowns, champagne, and chandeliers, it had been a comfort to many abroad to have a raven in the night to whisper all your dirty secrets to. Marya came swooping in when she was needed, receding to the background and never speaking a word of whatever had been told to her. While she was not much of the secretive type, the redhead found value in this role to those who confided in her. No one dared to pry, for her eyes were cold as steel the moment she detected a question too close to the forbidden words in her ear. She'd known all of Moscow's secrets, and not one of them had been spilled, taking the flight with her abroad. 

It was something she acknowledged yet never truly understood until the phone call with her parents. Until she was telling them of a woman she'd met-she had always been honest, about her sexuality too-and yet to them, the infamous Helene was now a refined woman who had recently moved from France. A woman she had an intriguing, flirtacious encounter with her first night ever at the Kuragin's estate. They'd never heard the name before, asked a few questions, but as in line with family values as ever, respected her request to leave the mystery woman's business name out of it. There was nothing suspicious in it; Marya had not lied to them since she were no more than ten years old. Marya did not think this would be where it all began. If Marya were asked why, the answer would be a simple one: she did not like being told the obvious. She knew of Helene’s reputation, because really, who didn’t? She did not need the lecture or the stories to know Miss Kuragina was a dangerous, dangerous woman.

She looked no less so walking through across the dance floor with her brother hooked around her elbow, a train of green crushed velvet trailing behind her. It was a richer color than the dress she had been seen in the last time they'd witnessed one another face to face, yet with less crystals and shine. Something more elegant rather than eye catching for the times she was not meant to be the center of attention, she supposed. 

Marya suspected that was the impression she was meant to be giving, yet when it came to Helene Kuragin, it seemed there was no such thing as isolated eyes. They were on her, following her and the suited blonde striding beside her, looking equally as striking. Marya only saw the side profile of the pair as they passed by, speaking into each other's ears with expressions of glittering delight. Their father parted from them quickly, but not before pointing them in the direction of the party's host and only then turning to find company of his own. And the moment Vasily was gone, Aline out of sight since the beginning, people began to whisper or call for their attention. It was startling, almost, for Marya to see what the Queen of Society truly meant. Helene had yet to even turn her way, seek her out, and Marya was once again left wondering if she'd been put under the same exact spell as the friend she hadn't spoken to since their argument. 

Marya had failed to notice that as the proclaimed Queen, her eyes had been quick since childhood. The moment Marya had entered, Helene knew exactly where she was. 

Helene knowing this did not mean she knew the consequences were going include her brother in his friend standing beside her, huddled into a small corner of the room where the stairwell of the main hall began its spiral. It came from a routine of entering this home, and just about all of the others-they hid away until their parents grabbed at their arms and reminded them of their last name. Until that moment, they lived in the serenity of the closest thing to teenager-hood they would probably ever get. 

Fedya was no business man, last name unknown to those who spoke to him, nor did he offer it when asked. He was, for all it was worth, as good at pretending at the two siblings were. He carried himself with dignity and respect to no one aside from himself. Head always up, seaglass eyes cutting through crowds to try and pick out which ones he thought were the ones he and his shorter temper would have to avoid. He had exactly one suit-one that was maintained to be in pristine condition despite the living situation he was in-though any time Anatole manage to sneak a plus one in, he'd give him a new tie just in case. Fedya was not close to what one would call a frequent flyer, but it seemed like Helene had been roped into another task and her brother left, in Anatole's words, "bored to tears". And so Fedya donned the suit once more and a turquoise tie that happened to be a lot more inviting than the looks he offered anyone who seemed to consider approaching. 

Right now, however, he was leaned against the wall with his legs and arms crossed. He hadn't said anything in a good minute or so, observing Helene to the sound of Anatole complaining about the brand of white wine for the night-as if he hadn't just picked up the first bottle he saw and snuck away. "I feel tension," Fedya announced suddenly, and Helene's brown eyes landed on him sharper than a knife's blade. 

Anatole snickered, cut off quickly by Helene's flat declaration, "No you don't. There is no tension," 

"There is sexual tension," The blonde, always one to play on the discomfort Helene rarely had the vulnerability to offer. Like hounds, Fedya picked up on the opportunity just as fast with a nod, lips curling into a smirk. "Very heavy sexual tension," Her younger brother continued to sing-song, nudging Fedya lightly in the side. 

Helene rolled her eyes, scoffing and giving a very faint gesture somewhere across the open space of milling people. "She’s across the room, fool. How could I have tension with someone not even looking at me?" She tried to focus on the woman in question over a sea of pinned up hairdos and black suit jackets so she could pretend not to see Fedya's jaw lower. 

" _She?"_

Helene closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose before reaching for her champagne flute; she'd never had the pallet for white wine. "Please don’t sound so surprised,"

"You've never mentioned her,"

"I know!" Anatole exclaimed louder than he probably should have, "I would have wanted to know my sister was going to shove her tongue-"

"Because I just met her, like, last week, Fedya," She huffed loudly over the youngest of the trio, favoring her glass of champagne over whatever teasing Anatole was likely feeling quite compelled to do. There was more misfortune in the fact Fedya spoke next, sounding more amused than she wished he would. 

"Wow, you really just went, made out with her, and carried on?"

"That is exactly what she did,"

"I didn’t even get that far because _you_ interrupted me," Helene pointed out with a playful bite, taking his glass as repayment for the hassle. "It was quite rude, Anatole. To think we were having a great time," 

"A 'great time', yeah," Anatole mocked with his fingers, squeaking as she reached out to slap his arm. 

"Wow, I _love_ having no context of what is going on here," 

Naturally, Fedya's side commentary was ignored completely. "It _would_ have been a great time," 

"Just use a room next time, for god's sake," Anatole rolled his eyes, though his eyes scanned the crowd just as diligently as his sister's did. Helene brought much more havoc than people gave her credit for. The difference between Anatole and his sister was the way Helene yielded her power, buying silence with threats of a dead reputation. After all, her reputation didn't spread much past the younger collective for that reason; she was the 1% sweetheart in the eyes of whom she needed to be. Anatole was not nearly as careful, their father's efforts futile to try and quell them. It did not help that for Helene to cause mischief of her own, circumstances were specific. Her running risks like _this_ were a rarity, but the entertainment value was too high to avoid Anatole's indulgence; he was equally as invested in Marya as Helene was. A woman, a Dmitrievna of all people, was quite a choice, but Kuragins got what they wanted.

And it was quite a thing to witness when the cards played just as Helene wanted. 

"She's in red again," Anatole hummed, sounding impressed. "She's bold, Helene," Not even he was sure if it was an observation or a warning. 

"Of course she is," Helene scoffed as if it were obvious: as if the two of them had known each other for years. As if she had a reason to be this confident. In Helene's eyes, she'd known everyone-had been trained to be able to in a quick glance. She'd never brag, but it went unsaid she was rarely ever wrong anymore. 

Fedya began a wary hum, gaining both the siblings' attention as their heads turned to him in unison. "You said she's in red?" There was half a grimace on his face. 

"Red, yes..." Helene drew out, eyes scanning a bit more urgently. 

"Lace neckline?" Helene hummed. "Long sleeves?" He sounded more and more pained with each detail she nodded to. "You mean the one Aline is speaking at?" Anatole stiffened. Helene's stomach dropped out instantly.

"... _What?!"_


End file.
